


Soulbound

by elesary



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Oral Sex, Possessive Andrew Minyard, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Andrew Minyard, Protective Neil Josten, Riko Moriyama is an Asshole, Rimming, Sex Magic, Soul Bond, Torture, Witch Andrew Minyard, familiar Neil Josten
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:49:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27658420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elesary/pseuds/elesary
Summary: Andrew Minyard is a simple witch who wants simple things, for his people to be safe and to be left the fuck alone. Kevin Day and his asshole ex-coven keep his life busy enough, without the addition of the insanely powerful familiar who shows up in all his mouthy and breathtaking glory. But Riko won't let go of his power source that easily, bringing war and threat to all the Andrew holds dear.
Relationships: Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau, Katelyn/Aaron Minyard, Matt Boyd/Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Nicky Hemmick/Erik Klose
Comments: 88
Kudos: 256





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> cw: mentions of rape and violence

It is known that Andrew Minyard does not sleep like the rest of his coven. Or, rather, he does not  _ wake _ like the rest of them. He does not yawn and stretch, or burrow deeper into the blankets or grumble sleepily when he is roused. No. He wakes in one of two ways, with great violence, or with a stillness that resembles the death he is so familiar with. 

This time he is heaved up and out of sleep with all the grace of a drowning cat lifted, spitting, from a stormy Alaskan sea. He wakes up slashing, knives an extension of his deadly hands, searching for the enemy he can still feel  _ digging _ at him. 

The room is empty. It is dark, it is quiet, and it is empty. The hands are still scraping at him, determinedly scritch scritch scratching their way inside.  _ His wards.  _

When Andrew was thirteen years old, the dead starting whispering to him, the ground rose up to greet each step he took, rumbling its welcome, gold worming its way to the surface in his footsteps. It was powerful, defensive magic that came to Andrew as easily as breathing. It would have kept him safe, then, if he had let it.

Andrew stumbles out of bed and kneels on the ground, no floor in this room, just rich loam that he sinks his hands into up to his wrists. The earth whispers to him, the dead tell him a story, of  _ great power, a weapon aimed at their hearts _ . 

Andrew, brother and cousin in tow, had arrived in Palmetto two years ago, when the Federation had decreed that he must join a coven, and the Foxes had been the only ones who swore not to bind his powers if he used them in their defense. He had agreed, and promptly gotten to work replacing the basic defensive wards with his own network of fiercely protective magics. It was designed like a spider's web, to trick and to trap, strong and sticky before the venomous bite. 

Andrew, now up to his elbows in the dirt, sinks his consciousness down  _ deep _ , following the many intersecting lines of his magic, the intruder is caught, but has gotten farther than they should have. The dead were right, whoever it is barely feels human, they feel more like a sun compressed into a shoebox than a witch, and they are slowly, inexorably inching forward, towards the heart of the sanctuary. Andrew throws out more magic, wrapping them up ever tighter. He adds a bear trap of a ward, to hold the intruder in unbreakable steel teeth until he can arrive and finish him off. Connected to the ground as he is, Andrew’s energy doesn’t flag, sustained by the endless thrumming of the patient Earth. 

When he is sure that the threat is contained, and that there are no more breaches, Andrew rises to his feet and throws on his sweatshirt over his heavy armbands and long sleeved shirt and shoves his feet into his boots, which hold yet more sheathed knives. He strides through the door and out into the hallway, not bothering to be quiet. If he has to wake up to defend the coven, he sees no reason they should be able to sleep through it. 

Without pausing to chat, he slams his fists on Wymack’s door as he passes. By the time Andrew has kicked Kevin awake and dragged him, kicking and screaming into wakefulness, Wymack is in the hallway, grumpy and blinking blearily. “This better be good, Minyard,” He grouses. 

“Good? That’s unlikely. We are under attack though.” Andrew walks away from their predictable reactions, he doesn’t have answers for Wymack or the patience to soothe Kevin’s cowardice. 

“It’s Riko!” Kevin moans, cradling his shattered hands. “I told you he’d come for me!”

It’s not Riko, Andrew reaches out and feels his wards. They are still holding, but whoever they’ve caught is a live-wire. Andrew has never felt magic like this, and he hates surprises. But it lacks the depraved sickness that had leached into Kevin’s hand from the man who cursed him. 

The night air is cold and still, the winds feel oddly suppressed, like even the sky is holding its breath. The earth thrums beneath Andrew’s feet, leading him to his dangerous prey. “Andrew,” Wymack says, it's not a question and usually Andrew doesn’t tolerate pointless conversation, but he supposes this does involve Wymack’s coven.

“Someone is digging through my wards,” he admits through gritted teeth, siphoning more energy from the earth to swaddle the invader in yet another layer of cloying magic. Andrew has never met anyone who could challenge his defenses like this. He does not like it. Riko is the only one who could come close, but he has  _ two _ familiars, and even that show of power had bored Andrew, the one time they had met face to face. 

But this, this is different. Andrew’s heart is actually pounding, and isn’t that new? Wymack shoots him a loaded glance but before he can say anything, Kevin cuts in. “But your wards- I didn’t think anyone could get through!”

“They can’t, hush now Kevin. You are here so I can keep an eye on you, not so you can bother me.”

They approach the edge of the Foxhole, the hidden valley that Wymack had carved away from the world for his witches. The wards are invisible, but the man caught in their snarl certainly isn’t.

The first thing Andrew sees in the blood. The man is covered in it, it’s soaked through his shirt, darker than even the faded black. It drips from his fingers and stains his teeth as he grits them, inching through yet another layer of Andrew’s magic. His eyes are narrow and desperate, sparking blue electricity. Andrew can almost taste the magic on his tongue. The man looks beaten, broken and like he’s baring his teeth in a useless gesture before death. But Andrew can feel his magic through his wards, and he has never felt anything so alive. 

Their eyes meet, and Andrew thinks  _ dangerous. _

“Nath-Nathaniel!” Kevin crumbles, would have hit the ground if Wymack hadn’t caught him. Andrew takes two steps forward and presses a blade to Nathaniel Wesninski’s throat.

“Andrew!” Wymack thunders angrily. It’s lucky for him that his hands are full of Kevin, in case he tries something stupid, like stopping Andrew.

Nathaniel Wesninski, one of Riko’s familiars. Or he’s supposed to be. Riko walks around with his leash enough, using his power to back up his own. But it appears like that leash isn’t connected to anything after all. And he’s almost nineteen. This is bad, bad  _ bad. _ It's an easy fix though, all Andrew needs to do is jerk the knife, he keeps it sharp enough. One flick of his wrist and the problem drips away. For that matter, Andrew is touching the familiar, all it would take is a thought. Well, the desire to kill, but that is never difficult to dredge up. 

Andrew’s fingers tingle where they’re pressed against Nathaniel’s throat, tacky with blood. His pulse thrums like a frightened bird beneath Andrew’s knuckles. For all that Nathaniel is more powerful than any witch, he can’t access his power, not alone. The achilles heel of familiars, they can only be free and powerless, to wield their power, they must surrender to a witch. 

“Nathaniel!” Kevin moans again, “what are you doing here?” His eyes dart around, clearly expecting Riko to appear at any minute. 

“I  _ was _ looking for you.” Neil sneers, bold for a man at the end of a knife, but it doesn’t look like it's a new position for him, judging by his weeping wounds. “Clearly it was a mistake.”

Kevin gapes at the familiar. “Looking for me? You mean you haven’t- how hasn’t he broken you yet? When’s your birthday?” Despite his fear, Kevin inches forward, as always, his fascination with magic is the only thing stronger than his innate terror of Riko. He is still staying behind Andrew though.  _ At least Kevin makes protecting him easy.  _

“Kid, are you telling us that you are an unbound familiar?” Wymack cuts in, stepping forward for the first time and Andrew can feel the miniscule flinch Nathaniel can’t quite hide. Without thinking about it, Andrew feels himself shift to put himself between them. Andrew wants to snarl, he is not used to being affected by anything, certainly not dangerous strangers, and his reactions to this familiar, pretty as he is, are unsettling and dangerous. The solution is simple, but Andrew knows the only move his hand will make will be to put the knife away. He keeps it pressed to Nathaniel’s jugular in an attempt to lie to himself, but the effort is wasted. 

Nathaniel tilts his chin stubbornly, nicking his own throat on Andrew’s knife. Andrew hisses, sheathing the knife and pressing his thumb over the small wound, hard enough he can tell himself it’s a threat. Nathaniel’s pulse thrums at him, oddly reminiscent of the heartbeat of the earth beneath Andrew’s feet. “I am a Hatford. Riko knew better than to try to break me.” Andrew taps his fingers along with Nathaniel’s pulse, their eyes meet again, and the beat speeds up. 

Nathaniel’s parentage is no secret, and neither is the sordid tale, told in whispers, of how they died. Mary, rebellious familiar from across an ocean, claimed by a monster she thought she could tame. Nathan, a monster who thought he could take what would have been willingly offered. Nathaniel, product of the rape that was supposed to force a bond on yet another unwilling familiar. Tale as old as time, except for the ending. The butcher, a powerful witch in his own right, broken by the one he had tried to break on his cock. The familiar, traumatized and furious, self-destructing on power she had no hope of containing, taking the baby and running. It was assumed she had burned out, taking the child with her when she imploded, until Riko Moriyama appeared with a self-satisfied smirk and Nathaniel, who now contained not one, but two doses of familiar magic. 

That Mary Hatford had surrendered her power to her son, an unbound, underage familiar burned through the magic world like wildfire. It was unheard of, and most witches were deeply uncomfortable by the idea that the most powerful being in the world was a familiar, and by extension, the witch he was bound to. 

Riko had not been shy about advertising his ownership of Nathaniel, and no one had really bothered to challenge him. He was still leashed by his family name and had yet to start any wars with important covens, so he was grudgingly respected in most circles. News that Nathaniel had not been bound, however, would be a crippling blow. Especially if he ended up bound to Riko’s wayward second. 

“ _ Knew  _ better?” Andrew asks, because there is a reason Nathaniel is here, and it’s unlikely to be an assassination attempt, not when anyone can see how Nathaniel still has his power. For him to run now, something has happened - or was going to happen. 

Nathaniel’s lips pull, forming an expression that is pure defiance. “He expected me to give in by now. Tetsuji even told the other branch that I had. Now he’s getting… impatient. Riko has a theory that my mother was special, or my father was weak. Last night he pulled Jean into my room and raped him over my bed, he said it was practice for me. He will hurt Jean until I give in, and when I don’t, he will start to hurt me.”

_ Start to hurt me _ , the words echo in Andrew’s mind, at odds with the blood that is still dripping into the dirt. Andrew can feel each drop as it soaks into the soil. “Kid-” Wymack starts.

“You can’t be here!” Kevin cuts Wymack off. “You’ll bring Riko down on us all!” 

Andrew pulls his hands away from Nathaniel and turns on Kevin. “How can I expect you to hold up your end of our bargain when you clearly doubt my ability to keep my promise?”

“Riko will-”

“Die,” Andrew promises softly. “If he tries to lay a hand on you. If you do not trust me, leave now. If you stay you will grow a spine. I will not protect someone who does not want my protection. Do you understand me?” 

“Andrew-”

“Did I stutter?”

Kevin swallows audibly. “I trust you.” Andrew stares him down, refusing to back down. 

A snort draws his attention back to Nathaniel. He is looking at Kevin with open scorn. “It was a mistake to come here. You are just as useless as you were before.” He turns his piercing eyes on Andrew, “release me. Now.” 

_ Ha!  _ Andrew doesn’t bother to even acknowledge that bit of ridiculousness. “Such fire,” he says instead, “for such a small little rabbit.” Nathaniel’s eyes flash dangerously, and Andrew takes advantage and viciously yanks on his magic. The familiar makes a pained sound, eyes growing desperate, muscles straining to run. Andrew grits his teeth and pulls again, and finally, finally Nathaniel goes down, collapsing to a pitiful heap at Andrew’s feet. 

Andrew sways and drops to his knees, sinking his hands into the dirt to siphon up a bit more power. Andrew is a powerful necromancer, but ripping away someone’s life force is difficult without physical contact, especially when he doesn’t actually want to kill them. Yet. Still, it shouldn’t have been  _ that _ difficult. 

Nathaniel is not to be underestimated. 

“Did you kill him?” Kevin snaps, rushing toward the fallen familiar. 

“Not yet.” Andrew said, turning to Wymack. “I assume you want to drag his broken ass to Abby?” 

Andrew should have killed him. He should leave Nathaniel here to die. He should not allow his bleeding heart coven leader to bring a ticking time bomb anywhere near his family. He has promises to keep after all. 

Instead, Andrew leans down and lifts the familiar into his arms. Nathaniel is surprisingly light, his frame seems too slight to contain his ferocity and attitude problem. Andrew grits his teeth against the hum of power that shakes his down to his bones from each point of contact between their bodies. He waits for the inevitable nausea that comes from touch to rise in him, overwhelming his control and begging him to lash out and  _ hurt _ any who would dare lay a hand on him, but it never comes. 

Not when Kevin gapes at him, well versed in his boundaries. Not when Wymack eyes him with an infuriating mixture of concern, warning and contemplation. Not even when Nathaniel burrows closer into Andrew’s chest, one hand curling into the collar of his shirt. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey people! big thank you to everyone who left kudos and/or left a comment!
> 
> cw: mentions of sexual assault, non-consensual drugging (a la Andrew drugging Neil at Eden's), and I think that's everything!
> 
> Hope you like it!

Andrew made sure Nathaniel would sleep until he was ready for him to wake up. Luckily for him, Nicky and Aaron could sleep like the dead and Andrew abandons Wymack to deal with the twin problems of Kevin’s breakdown and the irritating questions of Dan Wildes. He shoves right past her and Boyd and continues on his way to the infirmary. He has limited time before Aaron appears for his morning shift assisting Abby, and eventually Dan would show up to stick her nose in what was certainly not any of her business. 

Taking advantage of his brief period of privacy, he slips a small vial out of his armband with one hand and pinches Nathaniel’s nose closed with the other. Andrew tightens his hold on his magic, keeping the familiar asleep even as he fights to wake up. Finally, Nathaniel gasps for breath, opening his mouth. Andrew waits for him to start breathing regularly and then tips the contents of the vial down his throat. 

The serum won’t hurt him. It’s a simple truth drug that Roland mixed for Andrew a few days ago, when Andrew had taken his group to Eden’s Twilight, the nightclub he and his family had worked at before joining Wymack’s coven. Kevin goes there to drink, Aaron goes there for soft drugs and girls he thinks Andrew doesn’t know about, Nicky goes for fun. Andrew just goes there and sometimes he gets off with Roland and replenishes his stash of similarly spelled potions, just in case. 

Nathaniel chokes and gasps, but he’s breathing regularly when Abby bustles in, annoying and fussy. Andrew wants to draw his knives and place powerful wards around himself and the bed to keep her, and everyone else, away from them. He bares his teeth and forces the urge down, stepping aside and into the shadows. It’ll take a little while for the spelled drug to kick in, and Andrew has to focus on keeping Nathaniel quiet until everyone leaves them alone. 

Abby speaks to him, asking about the blood and injuries and what he had done to knock Nathaniel out, but Andrew ignores her until she lets out a small cry as she unpeels the shirt from the familiars back. 

It is a patchwork of bruises, broken skin and deep ragged scars. Even Andrew finds his breath catching at the ravaged landscape. Beneath the bruises, both fresh and yellowing, countless knife wound scars wind their way around his torso. A slash catches his belly button and yanks behind his back as if someone tried to gut him, several times. The imprint of a clothes iron is pressed distinctly to his left shoulder. The space between each rib bares white lines, a careful, methodical torture. A few of the newer wounds are still open and sluggishly weeping. And he is so, so thin. Andrew takes all of this in the time it takes to fully inhale, and by the time he’s ready to exhale, he shoves Abby aside and pulls the blanket back up to Nathaniel’s neck. 

“Andrew! He’s hurt! I need to-”

“Will he die before he wakes up?” Andrew asks bluntly. “Because if not, you can wait until he’s conscious.”

Abby presses her lips together, but doesn’t protest. “I will go tell David he’ll be okay. He’ll need food when he wakes up. Call me as soon as he does, okay?” she waits for his response, and when she gets none, she sighs and leaves the room. 

Andrew has scars enough of his own to know how private they can be. His skin crawls at the idea of someone pitying him and his while he sleeps, and he won’t allow it for anyone else. 

His momentary distraction is enough for his magic to slip enough for Nathaniel to wake up. He flails, eyes wide, unfocused and desperate. He tries to get up, but Andrew shoves him back on the bed with one hand, burning from the contact. Nathaniel settles, but his eyes are knowledgeable and accusing when they meet Andrew’s. 

Andrew ignores the lurching in his stomach as he realizes that Nathaniel has been drugged and spelled before, for honesty and obedience.  _ This makes Andrew the same as Nathaniel’s abusers.  _

Andrew shuts that thought down, he has people to take care of, and as long as Nathaniel is honest and not a pawn of Riko’s, Andrew won’t hurt him. “I have some questions,” he says. “As soon as you answer them, you can eat and sleep and you won’t be harmed.”

“Oh, how generous,” Nathaniel slurs, eyes still darting around looking for an escape. His muscles are tense beneath Andrew’s hand, which prevents him from moving too much. Andrew twitches to remove it, it is clear that the touch is unwelcome and his own skin crawls at the very thought. 

But he has people to protect. 

“Why are you here?” Andrew asks, ignoring his discomfort. 

“To find Kevin,” Nathaniel immediately replies, eyes hateful and resigned. His jaw clicks shut. It’s clear that he’s going to make this as difficult as he possibly can for Andrew. Submitting is just not in his nature.  _ How…. aggravating. _

“Why?” Andrew presses, breath catching in his throat. If Nathaniel says he’s here to hurt him, Andrew will kill him. He just… he doesn’t want to kill this man. 

“Riko would be furious if I surrendered my powers to Kevin when I refused him. And Kevin wouldn’t use me to hurt innocent people. I thought I could, but I can’t do it. I wouldn’t be able to make myself even if I tried.” the words are ripped from Nathaniel’s soul, one at a time. 

“Why not?” Nathaniel giving his power to Kevin would certainly make Andrew’s life easier, and remove the chances of him exploding and killing everyone, and yet, Andrew finds himself pleased that Nathaniel doesn’t intend to do so. It’s very confusing. 

“He would give me right back to Riko if he were asked.” Nathaniel replies, he clamps his mouth shut, but he can only fight the spelled drug for so long. “And… I’m not- I’m not attracted to him. I couldn’t- not with him.”

“Hm.” Andrew digests this. Much of the power that Witch-Familiar bonds have are generated through sex magic, Andrew knows. Which adds another horrifying layer to what Riko wants from Nathaniel. But Kevin is attractive, at least until he opens his mouth. Even Andrew was tempted to make overtures when they had first met. He is now relieved he never had, but he’s surprised by Nathaniel’s instant rejection of him as a potential mate.  _ Maybe he’s only interested in women? _

It doesn’t matter, Andrew is getting off track. “Are you going to hurt him?”

“No!” Neil says hotly, clearly angered by the suggestion. “I wouldn’t ever hurt him! He- he was there when I was young, I don’t - I don’t want to hurt him.”

“What do you want?”

“For you to stop forcing my answers,” Nathaniel says, chin tilting up aggressively. “I don’t want to be Nathaniel anymore, the only people who have ever called me that have hurt me. I want to control my own life and my own magic. I want you to let me go.”

Andrew loosens his grip before he can stop himself, responding to the naked need in Nathaniel’s voice.  _ This man could hurt Aaron, _ he reminds himself, and his resolve hardens. “One more question and I’ll let you go,” he promises.

Nathaniel sneers. “There is nowhere for me to go you idiot, you psychotic midget, you-”

“If Riko showed up right now and told you to go back, what would you do?”

“Go with him, obviously. Since some _asshole_ took away my free will. Do you want to know how he broke Jean? He raped him until Jean gave in, and then Riko passed him around to his favorite Ravens. I had to take care of him afterwards, each time. There are not words large enough to describe my hatred for him. Not even my father was cruel enough to think about the things I’m going to do to him, twice. He will die screaming after I have taken away everything he has ever wanted. And because of _you,_ if he showed up right now and told me to, I’d get on my knees for him-”

It’s possible Nathaniel keeps talking, but Andrew can’t hear anything over the sound of his own panted breaths, scraping out his lungs. He throws himself away from Nathaniel,  _ get away, get away DON’T TOUCH ME! _

_ Drake doesn’t listen, he never listens. “Always so good for me, lying so still,” Drake croons, buffeting Andrew with his breath. It smells of garlic and beer and the cookies Andrew had helped Cass bake earlier that day. Andrew lies still because all his attention is turned inward, controlling that ever-expanding ball of magic that wants to lash out and  _ kill _. Andrew wants to let it, all he wants is to kill Drake and stop the pain and the blood and the crawl of unwelcome hands on him. But. But Cass loves her son more than she loves Andrew. And Andrew loves Cass more than he hates  _ this.

Nathaniel’s wild magic drags him back to the present. He is standing now, halfway to the door but facing Andrew, a quizzical look on his face. Andrew makes fists to stop his hands from shaking. Nathaniel’s magic spikes again, dangerously close to out of control. “Nathaniel!” Andrew snaps, stepping forward. 

It's a mistake. His eyes turn glassy and panick fills them. “Don’t call me that!” he rasps and sprints out the infirmary door. He is shockingly fast even when he’s disoriented and Andrew spits every bad word he’s ever learned. 

Still swearing, Andrew chases after him, but he’s out of sight by the time Andrew turns the first corner. Leaning against the wall, Andrew closes his eyes and turns his attention inwards. His wards are thrumming softly, fully powered and alert for intruders, but Nathaniel hasn’t triggered any of them. 

Andrew frowns, a tiny twitch of his facial muscles, invisible to the untrained eye.  _ That can’t be right _ . No one can get through Andrew’s wards, especially not a familiar with  _ that much _ power about to go off like a nuclear warhead.  _ Where is he? _

He looks deeper, yanking on the strands harder. Nothing. He looks again. Nathaniel  _ don’t call me that  _ is just… gone.

Fuck.  _ Fuck.  _ The Rabbit’s powers are out of control, melting down and Andrew doesn’t know how close he is to Andrew’s family. He has people to protect and they do not include Nathaniel Wesninski. Andrew grits his teeth and yanks his wards, snapping them from their tethers around Palmetto’s borders and dragging them closer until they cling like ivy to the house, shutting the volatile familiar outside of their protection.

The drugged, vulnerable, terrified familiar with too much raw power coursing through his veins to be allowed near Andrew’s people. Andrew’s skin crawls, itching like something inside of him is eating its way out. His fingers twitch to expand his protection again, or to put his hands on the familiar and tug him close enough to keep safe. To make sure that he fears nothing above Andrew. 

_ Fuck. _

“What the fuck is going on?” Wymack says, storming into the hallway. “Where’s the familiar?”

Before Andrew can reply, or, more likely, decide not to, Kevin cries out in agony and fear. He and the rest of the coven had followed Wymack into the hallway and looked at Andrew with a mix of anger, boredom and frustration. “I- it’s Riko,” Kevin gasps, clutching his head and swaying back and forth in obvious pain. Andrew snarls wordlessly and throws another ward at Kevin, even though he knows it’s useless. 

All the defensive magic in the world can’t keep a powerful witch out of a mind he’s been allowed in to. “He’s here!” Kevin moans, “he’s come for me and Nathaniel. Andrew! Where’s Nathaniel?”

_ Outside, _ Andrew thinks with growing, unfamiliar horror.  _ Broken open and vulnerable.  _ Riko’s magic is proximity based, and for him to be scratching at Kevin to be allowed access to his mind, he must be close. 

Andrew fights back the urge to throw his wards wide, expand them as much as he can to protect Nathaniel, but he doesn’t know where the familiar is and can’t risk allowing Riko in too. No, all he can do is hope that Nathaniel is able to hide from Riko as well as he’s hiding from Andrew. Otherwise, Riko will own him and his power by dawn. 

Andrew doesn’t believe in regret.  _ He doesn’t.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! lemme know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did the Tumblr thing and got one, elesary.tumblr.com

  
  


“Stay here,” Andrew orders, fixing Kevin and Aaron with a stern glare. “Renee? Watch them for me.”

He can feel Riko now, slowing slightly as he passes through the ghosts of Andrew’s old wards. Andrew’s hands begin to heat up, longing for contact with Riko’s skin. It doesn’t matter where, one brush of Andrew’s fingers and Riko dies, stewed in his own vile juices. It’s a wonderful image. 

“Do not let him in, Kevin. Do you understand me? I won’t let him touch you, but if you let him in your mind again I can’t stop him.” Kevin is shaking and pale, but the rest of the coven tightens around him in a rare show of unconditional support. 

Before Andrew can leave the house, Wymack catches his eye. The look he shoots Andrew is pointed, concern and warning all in one:  _ don’t die  _ and _ don’t kill _ . If Andrew was still on the drugs he had been forced to be on by the human courts, his responding smile would have been as wide as it was scornful. Sober, all he can manage is a faint nod. 

He blinks when he steps outside. It is fully morning now, fog already burned away and heavy damp heat well established. Andrew hadn’t noticed how much time had passed since he had been awoken by Nathaniel’s original invasion of his wards. He rolls his shoulders back and checks his blades. His magic makes them almost unnecessary, but he still feels vulnerable without them. 

Riko Moriyama saunters out of the woods with a slimy smile, power seeping off of him like dark oil. Jean Moreau shadows him, pale, solemn and limping. Andrew doesn’t care about the familiar, but the sight of him makes the deep ember of rage that always slumbers where his heart should be begin to burn. 

“Hey little bird,” he calls disrespectfully, “you are very far from your Nest. And uninvited.”  _ Killing Riko now would start a war that would threaten his family _ . He has to remember that. He has to find a way to keep his hands to himself. Never again, he had promised himself once, would he ever suppress his killing touch around a rapist, no matter what the cost. But now his promises clash. The one he made to himself loses.  _ No wonder no one keeps their promises to Andrew, if even he can’t. _

“Where is your master, dog?” Riko demands. 

Andrew, as a rule, is not a talkative man. He barely speaks to his own family and he has nothing to say to his enemies. Still, every moment Riko spends focused on him is another moment he isn’t breaking Nathaniel. Andrew pulls off his leather gloves one slow finger at a time. It’s a threat, backed up by his well-known history and dead eyes. Riko must know that it isn’t wise for Andrew to kill him, but he backs up unwillingly anyway. Andrew tends to have that effect on people. “Fly home little bird, before I break your wings.”

Riko’s lips tighten in fury and he closes his fist, cutting off Andrew’s access to air. Panic threatens to overtake him as his chest heaves to no avail. Tiny dots threaten to blot out Andrew’s vision. Andrew straightens out his fingers and tugs on the earth beneath Riko’s feet, sending him tumbling into a hole. It’s enough to break Riko’s concentration, and breath floods into Andrew’s lungs. Andrew inhales deeply, savoring the ache in his lungs. 

Riko is too powerful for Andrew to hold off for long, unless Andrew manages to get his hands on him. Andrew watches warily as Riko climbs out of the hole, muddy and furious. He shoots out a demanding hand and Moreau pulls him to his feet. Casually, Riko backhands the familiar, sending him crashing to the ground. “Give me Kevin and Nathaniel,” Riko commands, lips curling with scorn as he looks over Jean’s crumpled form to Andrew.

“You’ve got a little dirt…” Andrew says, gesturing broadly at the entirety of Riko’s body. 

Riko snaps his fingers. “Now,” he orders. Andrew has a sudden and visceral fantasy of breaking Riko’s hand. 

Andrew tilts his head and examines Riko. “Why?” He asks baldly, “I don’t like it when other people touch my things.”

“They belong to me!” Riko snaps, “And it is a declaration of war if you do not return them!”

“Declaration of war? Oh, no. We’ll get to  _ that _ later. Can you hear me, Riko Moriyama? Do you understand my words? Prove it. Where’s your binding mark? Last time I checked, it broke with Kevin’s magic. If you can’t prove your  _ ownership- _ ” Andrew grinds his teeth over that last word. “Then you are trespassing, which is awfully close to that declaration you were talking about.” Andrew flexes his fingers and steps forward purposefully. 

Riko places a hand on top of Moreau’s head and forms a fist in his hair, yanking his head back and displaying the dark teeth-shaped bruises that ring his throat. The familiar bites back a whimper and goes pale, sagging limply against Riko’s legs as his energy is drained away. Riko, flush with power and vitality, gleams with triumph. It’s a sick parody, Riko taking by force what should be given freely. 

Andrew looks at Moreau and feels nothing. Moreau is not his problem. Riko, though, Riko  _ is _ . 

“Kevin will come home when I call him, like a good pet.” Riko’s voice is cool and silky again, the rush of power and satisfied sadism enough to bring him back under control. 

Andrew says nothing, the simple tilt of his head sufficient to convey his scorn at that idea. Privately, he knows that Riko is right. If Andrew wasn’t standing in the way, if Dan and Wymack weren’t insuring he kept his mind closed, Kevin would crawl back to Riko’s side with his tail firmly between his legs. 

Riko takes another step forward, shoving Moreau off of him without a thought. The other man slumps down to the ground.  _ Run  _ his eyes say when Andrew meets them,  _ there is no winning here.  _

Andrew feels nothing but contempt in response. Moreau lives a miserable life, full of pain and degradation, but to just roll over and accept it? Andrew doesn’t understand that. Andrew believes in choices and bargains.  _ Pick your battles, and then fight them. Stand your ground, even if you have to carve it, inch by desperate inch, from your own flesh.  _ Andrew’s forearms itch at the thought. 

Jean and Kevin, both so willing to let others rule their lives.  _ Birds of a feather _ . 

Moreau is not worth his time, so Andrew dismisses him from his mind and returns his attention to Riko. 

“You’d think,” he says slowly, watching unblinking at Riko stalks ever closer. “That you’d know where your familiar is, unless you lied about the success of your binding.” 

Riko freezes, which is lucky for him. There’s an invisible line, one demarcating the distance Andrew has deemed unacceptably close for Riko to be to Kevin. Andrew’s promise to Wymack does not outweigh his promise to Kevin. If Riko crosses that line, Andrew will kill him. 

“How dare you question-” Riko sneers, hatred and cruelty yanking his face in several ugly directions. 

“Time to go, crow,” Andrew decides, and sucks enough strength from the earth that a ring of grass and vegetation twenty feet in diameter withers and dies. It’s barely enough to weave wards strong enough to withstand the combined powers of Riko and Moreau, but it will prevent him from moving forward or to either side. Riko can stay and pout, or go back. Andrew does not much care which. 

Or he wouldn’t, if he could only be sure which direction the blue eyed boy went rabbiting off in.  _ Not my problem, _ Andrew reminds himself sternly and turns around. 

With the family that he has, Riko should be used to being summarily dismissed, but Andrew should clearly learn not to underestimate his superiority complex because as soon as he turns his back, Riko attacks. 

Riko is powerful and Andrew quakes and struggles to hold him back. He sets his jaw and sinks his mind down deep into the earth. Andrew reaches for his magic and holds onto his wards  _ tight _ . This body can endure anything to keep his promises. Andrew grows roots, stands against Riko’s rage like a mountain. The wind screams, fire batters the wards around him relentlessly. Andrew feels his skin bubble and split, his organs boil in his own blood, his eyes pop and then melt, dripping down to his chin. His bones crackle and seep his cooked marrow. 

It’s not real. Or it is, but it’s not happening to his body. Andrew’s wards are an extension of himself. Any assault on them is felt just as keenly as it would be on his skin. Grimly, Andrew holds on. As long as he endures this is as long as Kevin won’t have to. As long he holds on, Aaron can safely betray Andrew. As long as he holds on, the blue eyed familiar will not be bent over until he breaks. Nothing lasts forever, not even pain. Andrew knows this. Riko is tiring, human battery notwithstanding. Poor Jean, Riko will have to be recharged soon.  _ Sex magic _ , Andrew knows,  _ is less powerful when it is created through rape. _ And then he thinks about blue, blue eyes. He can almost see them, gazing at him from the shadows of the woods. That power would be considerable, no matter how it was accessed. 

_ Ah there it is.  _ The inferno weakens by a degree. It is enough for Andrew to turn around. He examines his hands. They are calloused and whole, knuckles dotted with faint pale scars. They do not smoke or fall to ash. He clenches them into fists, looks up into Riko’s eyes, and lets him see his own death. 

Andrew takes one step forward and Riko goes white. Maybe from fear, or anger, or plain exhaustion. Moreau can’t even raise his head. Before Andrew can make good on his threats, unspoken or otherwise, Wymack’s heavy handed power booms over them. This is his land, Andrew is a member of his coven. Just because Wymack doesn’t often choose to exert his full power over his dominion, doesn’t make it any less irresistible when he does. 

“Enough,” Wymack says, brows furrowed as he steps out of the house, his attention, dangerously, on Riko. 

“This does not concern you,” Riko tries, injecting his voice with all that Moriyama arrogance, as if that name provided him with anything more than mere scraps of power over those who didn’t know how inconsequential he was within his family. 

Wymack chuckles, a deep dark thing that reminds Andrew just how  _ old  _ Wymack is. Just how much power is contained by those tribal flame tattoos. If Riko is a storm and Andrew is a mountain, Wymack is an ocean with a tsunami brewing. “You are trespassing on my territory, boy, and I will go to war for those who live here.” 

If Riko were Tetsuji, or Ichirou, maybe he could have defied Wymack. But he isn’t, so he has even less power than Andrew against the coven master. “Remember this,” he says, taking step after unwilling step backwards. “This is the moment you’ll regret.” Moreau looks at them in horror and pity as he drags himself after his master, yelping in the agony of separation when Riko gets too far away. 

“Whiny little bastard,” Wymack comments, lighting a cigarette as soon as Riko’s taint vanishes from Palmetto. Andrew almost vomits with the effort of throwing up his wards again, but he manages. Wymack offers him a cigarette, but Andrew shakes his head, teeth gritted. He fists his hands, unable to stop them from shaking and unwilling to allow Wymack to see. 

He does, anyway, but he knows better than to comment on it. Wymack eyes him carefully for a moment, nothing but a gruff middle-aged man again, and goes back inside. Andrew can trust Wymack and Renee with his people for a few more minutes, he decides. Andrew waits until the door slams behind Wymack before he forces his legs to carry him thirty feet into the woods. 

Andrew’s knees buckle and falls, hands sinking into the rich loam, chest heaving as he struggles to breathe. Andrew’s vision blackens, he sucks life from the forest around him, clenching his teeth to stay conscious. He is far enough from the house that no one can see him work to pull himself back together, but he still feels like there are eyes on him. It doesn’t matter though, all he can do is grip his eyes and wait to recover. It takes far too long. If Andrew weren’t a child of the earth, a necromancer, he would not have survived Riko’s power. As it is, he’s as helpless as a fetus in its aftermath. 

_ Unacceptable.  _

Bee would tell him that he is not a machine, that he is just a man, that he deserves to treat himself with respect and allow himself to recover, but Bee doesn’t have promises to keep. Promises that rely solely on Andrew’s abilities as a protector. 

By the time the sun sets, Andrew’s legs decide they can support him and he forces himself to his feet. By the time he slams the door to the house behind him, he is pulled together enough that nothing shows his previous weakness. Not his face, not his clothes, not his traitorous limbs. His hands are steady. He walks into the kitchen and runs his eyes over his people and feels nothing but faint satisfaction that they are all present and accounted for, with no unexpected injuries. 

Silence falls over the table. Nicky’s spoon hits his bowl. Andrew ignores them and stands on his tiptoes to pull down a mug and a bowl of his own. He makes hot chocolate, and by the time he’s pouring marshmallow’s into the steaming liquid, low conversations have started again. 

Andrew takes his seat between Kevin and Aaron and spoons a generous serving of Abby’s beef stew into his bowl. Kevin is drunk, Aaron is texting. Andrew is numb. All is as it always is. Andrew eats until he is finished and then he reaches for the whiskey. 

Because it’s his job, he waits until all of his people are safely put away for the night before he even thinks about following them. The whiskey has muted the pain in his muscles and head, so he takes himself on a slow patrol around Palmetto, chain smoking and lying to himself about why exactly he tests every ward. He trails his mind down each strand of razorwire magic, looking for even the faintest traces of rabbit. 

He finds nothing. Nathaniel  _ don’t call me that _ Wesninski is gone. 

Testing himself, Andrew stays awake until the first fingers of dawn creep over the horizon. Riko is a sore loser, but even he needs more time to lick his wounds before retaliating, but Andrew can’t let himself lower his guard. Finally, he feels Wymack stir, and yesterday’s reminder of the coven masters power is just enough for Andrew’s protective instincts to release enough that he can sleep. 

He thinks he’s still dreaming when he feels the first tentative flutter against his wards. This time, it's not a threat, not a struggle, it's a greeting.  _ I’m here, _ the familiar says,  _ come and get me. _ Andrew wakes, surprised, and goes to his window. 

The sky is still gray, the yard is deserted. Wymack is on his third cup of coffee. Andrew checks his knives, pulls on his boots, tightens his wards around the bedroom doors as he follows the hallway towards the porch. 

Outside, the day is new, air heavy with dew, dampening Andrew’s hems as he crosses the clearing towards the woods. As he passes the dead spots from yesterday, Andrew reminds himself to send Aaron out later, so he can replenish what Andrew took. Andrew pauses at the mouth of the woods, feeling along the threads of his magic for a direction. 

He turns west, walks the same thirty feet. Andrew ruthlessly subdues the discomfort he feels when he is led to the same spot he pulled himself together in yesterday. He remembers the eyes he felt on him as he shook apart. It is intolerable that someone could hide from Andrew in his own territory, especially when he was looking. 

And yet. 

There the familiar sits, in the middle of Andrew’s dead spot, waiting for him with shuttered eyes, bluer than even Andrew’s perfect memory remembers. 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's early!!!

“What’s your name?” Andrew asks, and it would be comical if it wasn’t so sad how confusion and frustration immediately sweep across the familiar's expression. He’s still bleeding, eyes fighting to hold their focus, tension tightening each muscle against gravity. 

“You know who I am!” he snaps, glaring at Andrew furiously, “Kevin told you and everyone knows what I am to Riko,” he looks vaguely green at the prospect. A knife finds its way into Andrew’s hand and he flicks it between his fingers until he notices the familiar's sudden stillness, the way his eyes have gotten caught on the edges. Andrew remembers the devastation of his body and puts the knife away. 

“All I know is a name you said you didn’t want to be called,” Andrew informs him, advancing on the hunched shape. “Why are you still here?”

The familiar looks up at him for a long time, eyes clear and penetrating. “Neil,” he says finally, “my name is Neil.”

“Hello, Neil. Get the fuck out of my territory.” Andrew’s hands clench, pissing him off. Neil has to go, Neil has to go  _ now _ before he loses control of his magic and it spirals out, threatening Andrew’s people. Andrew’s wards are very strong, but the wild magic of an imploding familiar with two power sources? They’d crumple like a styrofoam cup on the floor of Eden’s Twilight. 

“Andrew Minyard,” Neil replies, voice lilting upwards with the faintest trace of...something. Anger maybe, or admiration. “I’ve been beaten because of you. Riko doesn’t like it when people tell him no. especially ‘nameless mutts’ like you.”

Andrew shrugs. “That does not sound like my problem.”

“No,” Neil agrees, “but it looks like defying Riko is a hobby of yours.” Andrew remembers the feeling of eyes on his back during his confrontation with the raven. For some reason, the knowledge that Neil was watching him sends a tingle down his spine. It’s dangerous, the attraction he feels for this mess of a man. It must be time to visit Roland.

“It's the little things in life,” Andrew drawls. "but you know that already, don't you?" he gestures at the bloodstains spreading across Neil’s filthy clothes and has to blink against the brilliance of Neil’s quick smile. 

“Oh yes,” he says, “and he can never quite make me regret it, as much as he tries to.” The smile dims and then dies as Neil’s fingers touch his wounds. “He will be very very angry now, and no one is there to clean up the mess he will make of Jean.”

“Why are you here?” Andrew asks when Neil falls silent. Neil looks down, and when he looks back up Andrew feels his stomach fall all the down to his toes. He knows that look, he saw it every morning in the mirror above the washing machine at Cass’s house while he waited for his sheets to dry. It’s the look a man has when he’s reached the very end of his rope and is just about ready to let go. Andrew’s memory reminds him exactly how many scars Neil has, how much he’s survived, his wards buzz gently in his mind, thrumming against the magic Neil can barely contain.  _ No, _ Andrew thinks softly. 

Neil spreads his hands, looking faintly surprised to find that they are shaking. “I know how to run and hide and disappear. Getting away from Riko is not the problem. But I can’t run away from myself, and my power is - it’s eating me alive,” his voice is low and raw and resigned. “I have to put it somewhere, I have to roll over for someone, and I thought it could be Kevin, but I can’t trust him not to give me back to Riko.” Neil swallows, looks away from Andrew. 

Andrew finds himself kneeling in front of the familiar, leaning in to all that emotion, all that trapped desperation. Has Andrew ever felt that _much_? 

“I thought about Jeremy Knox, he’s supposed to be a good man, a powerful witch, but I won’t make it to California now. If my death wouldn’t destroy a midsize city I might consider waiting, but I’ve fought too long to let myself die now. So that leaves me here…” Neil looks at his hand and clenches them into fists to stop them from shaking. “Your coven master seems like a good man, he didn’t back down from Riko.” Neil still looks green but he sounds resigned.

“What? No!” Andrew snaps, horror and disgust racing through him. “You want to let  _ Wymack fuck you?” _ His rejection of the plan is sudden and visceral and he is unable to hide it. 

Neil looks up with fire and fury in his eyes. The ground rocks with the strength of his power, whipping out of him like lightning. “I don’t  _ want  _ anyone to fuck me!” his voice is raw and anguished and angry. “But people like me don’t get to choose, do we? We roll over and become slaves or we die, killing hundreds of thousands of people when we go. So don’t you dare-” he bites off his last words with an audible snap of his teeth. “I’m out of time.”

Andrew reaches down into the earth and tunes his heartbeat to the flow of magma, warm and hypnotic and slow. “Wymack is a good man,” he concedes, forcing his voice to remain calm. “But he prefers women exclusively and already has a partner.”

A smile, grim and amused, graces Neil’s face for a second. “And you?” he asks, “do you  _ exclusively prefer women or already have a partner _ ?”

Andrew, who has been crouched on the balls of his feet for the whole conversation, falls backwards onto his ass. “What,” he manages to force out of numb lips. 

Neil tilts his head, eyes glowing like headlights against the reflectors of the median a moment before the crash. “You wouldn’t give me up to Riko,” he muses, “would you? No, you would use my power to protect your family  _ from  _ him. He would hate that, you know, maybe even more so than if I surrendered to Kevin.”

Andrew’s body is fire, and then ice. He can’t think over the thundering of his pulse in his temples. He closes his eyes, but all he sees is Neil writhing under him, pretty mouth making pretty noises as he comes… but that’s not how it would be. Andrew remembers what Neil has been saying, “ _ I don’t want to get fucked, I wouldn’t be able to make myself even if I tried, people like me don’t get to choose”.  _

Neil cannot consent, and Andrew  _ cannot be like them. _ “No,” Andrew breathes.

Neil closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them, they are broken, shattered like glass. “Okay,” he murmurs, “you should take your coven then, get as far west as you can. I’ll head east, but I don’t know how far I can make it.” he looks down at the expanding blood stains against his already soiled clothing. He heaves himself to his feet with a wince. “I hope I never see you again, Andrew Minyard,” he says, “but only because if I do it’ll be as a weapon aimed at your throat.”

Andrew thinks about this man, shattered but not broken, giving Andrew the chance to run before he explodes. He thinks of the way he had accepted Andrew’s no without arguing, even though it’s a death sentence. Andrew thinks of his promises, and how Neil could help him keep them. Andrew wonders how far apart they would have to be for his wards to sufficiently protect the coven against a release of power of the magnitude Niel’s death would produce.  _ I hope I never see you again,  _ Neil had said _ I’ll be a weapon aimed at your throat.  _ Neil is too vulnerable to fight someone off, too far past his edges of control, too weakened from his injuries. 

“Stop,” Andrew grits out, when watching Neil hobbling away from him becomes too painful. “Wait.” Neil freezes, but he doesn’t turn around. 

“One of us should get a choice,” Neil says, voice breaking on the last word, “And you’re gonna kill Riko, aren’t you? For Kevin?”  _ for me.  _ Neil doesn’t say the words, but Andrew hears them anyway. 

“Shut up,” Andrew says, because he is not built for this, he cannot feel this much, not without breaking like pottery in an earthquake. “Shut up, I’ll do it.”

Neil’s shoulders sag, and then tighten back up. He still won’t turn around and show Andrew his eyes. Andrew accepts the reprieve and retreats back into himself, worn out from the emotion and the commitment. He is shaken, down to his bones, everything has shifted so dramatically he’s not even sure Bee can help him find enough pieces of himself to function.  _ He is like them, he is like them, he is going to break and ruin and - _

The rustle of clothing and a pained whimper makes his eyes snap open. He blinks, too horrified to even react to what he sees. Neil is gripping a tree branch with one hand, the other pressed between his teeth, pants around his ankles. Blood still drips from his wounds, painting his legs in a way that hits far, far too close the home. 

Andrew can’t stop the tsunami of rage that sweeps through him at the sight. Invisible hands sneak under his pants, pulling him apart and laughing as they tear into him. The clearing ripples, knocking Neil onto his bare ass, as a hundred wards spring up around them. “What are you doing? I’m not- I can’t -  _ Neil!” _

If he has to fuck Neil like this, right now, the deal is off. He is incapable of… that. Is that what Neil thinks? That Andrew would walk over and - just like that? _While he’s bleeding?_ Andrew’s fists itch to hit him, to make him feel as sucker punched as Andrew does. 

Neil hasn’t moved. He huddles at the base of that tree, arms around his naked legs, still tangled in his pants. He is shaking so hard his teeth are chattering, but he’s clearly not breathing. Andrew swears, low and vicious, and scoots closer. He can’t just leave Neil here in the midst of a panic attack, but he clearly can’t  _ touch him  _ either _.  _

“Neil!” he says, “breathe.” Neil doesn’t react, maybe he doesn’t even hear Andrew’s voice, but he begins to pulse with power, threatening to implode immediately. Andrew swears viciously, hating what he’s about to do, but Neil is beginning to glow. 

He looks up at Andrew with desperate, neon eyes as his skin begins to crack. “Help me!” he chokes out, voice like the rumble of rockslide. Andrew throws himself towards the familiar, one hand coming to rest on the back of his neck as he pulls Neil towards him, tucking his face into his shoulder and wrapping his arms around him as if Andrew could hold him together better than his own skin.

Neil burns and shudders and finally goes still. Through the earth, Andrew can feel their heartbeats sync up and then slow as Neil calms. Neil’s power does not retreat or pull back, instead it leaches  _ into _ Andrew and dissipates back down into the earth. “ _ Oh,”  _ Neil breathes, and Andrew can  _ feel  _ him settling back into his skin, no longer too tight and itchy to contain him. Neil’s lungs expand fully for the first time he can remember and his muscles relax. 

Andrew can do nothing but hold on, overwhelmed by the feeling of Neil  _ inside _ of him. He waits to tense, to feel the overpowering disgust and discomfort that comes from skin on skin contact, but all he feels is Neil’s mind and soul brush against him with the lightest of touches, branding Andrew forever with power and knowledge and  _ togetherness.  _

If he wanted, Andrew could flex his fingers and tear through Neil, turning all that power against him as he  _ took  _ and  _ took  _ and  _ took. _ Neil is not a battery that would ever run dry, he is boundless, he is burning and vibrant and so,  _ so _ vulnerable to Andrew’s whims. 

_ No wonder Riko wants him so badly,  _ Andrew thinks, in awe of the massive wells of power within this man, just waiting to be tapped. They both shudder with the violence that the image of Riko wanting Neil conjures in Andrew. Neil sees how Andrew thinks, feels his overwhelming  _ need  _ to keep him safe and near and willing beneath his hands. Neil can see Andrew’s struggle to contain his possessive and controlling instincts in check so that he never feels entitled to  _ take _ what must be  _ given. _

The connection goes both ways. If he wanted, Neil could see all of Andrew too, but he doesn’t. He just looks up and meets Andrew’s awed gaze. 

“Is this enough?” Andrew manages to ask, “because I don’t touch people who don’t want to be touched.”

Neil glances down at his bare legs and looks back up at Andrew with some of that fire back in his eyes. “It’s enough,” he says doubtfully. “But I don’t understand why you don’t just-” he makes an abortive gesture, but he stays well within Andrew’s arms, seemingly content to remain there.

Andrew raises an eyebrow. “You don’t understand why I didn’t interrupt the  _ panic attack  _ of a man who just got finished telling me that he didn’t want to get fucked by bending him over?” he struggles to keep his voice calm, but the thought of Neil turning himself over to someone Neil thought might rape him is obscene. “Besides, you said yourself that a Hatford cannot be broken, you would have killed anyone who tried.”

Neil just shrugs, careful not to dislodge Andrew’s hands. Andrew, who had already decided to kill Riko, vows to make it  _ hurt. _ “After that first touch it was done, the connection was formed. I couldn't have stopped you,” Neil says, then reaches up to cup the air around Andrew’s face, close enough that Andrew can’t breath from it. “Thank you for _not._ ”

And that is - too much. Andrew will not be  _ thanked _ for not  _ raping  _ Neil. He pulls his hands away and stands up, ignoring the feeling that stretches between their skin. It’s like taffy, or gum between pavement and a shoe, like they’ve always been touching and it will be just a little bit painful until they are touching again. Andrew should hate it, but he doesn’t feel vulnerable with Neil so close to him, it's more like Andrew’s walls fell the moment their skin touched and they’ve gone back up with him inside. 

“Shut up. I  _ will kill you _ if you ever say something like that again,” Andrew snaps. “You’re still bleeding.”

“No,” Neil says, “no I’m not.” He looks down in wonder at his injuries, thoughtlessly lifting his tattered shirt to reveal the warzone of his torso. He’s right, the skin is still tight and angry and red, but the wounds have closed. Dried blood flakes between his fingers, leaving stains like rust. “Andrew,” he looks up. “It worked. It’s you and me. Do you - do you feel it?”

Andrew doesn’t have the words to answer that. He reaches down, slowly enough for Neil to flinch, or retreat, or reach out and break Andrew’s fingers, to cup his face. Neil leans up and into his hand like a flower opening to the sun. Something thrums between them like a plucked cello string; deep and dark and resonating down into their bones. 

Andrew grasps Neil’s hands and eases him to his feet. The familiar hasn’t eaten or slept properly in days, he is a mess of bruises and sprains and possibly a few breaks. Andrew feels each and every ache and pain and cramp as he stands. “Your pants,” Andrew says, nudging the crumpled jeans with one foot. 

Neil nods carefully and leans against the tree, watching with hooded eyes as Andrew carefully eases the denim, stiff with blood and filth, up over his bruised knees and trembling thighs. Andrew keeps his touch clinical and his eyes on Neil’s face as he fastens the button and tugs up the zipper. There’s nothing sexual about it, but it's so intimate that Andrew can barely breathe.

“Riko will come back,” Neil warns as Andrew steps back, turning towards the house. “when he finds out where I am.”

“That is for me to worry about. Someone comes for you, you step aside and let me deal with it, understood.”

Neil smiles, crookedly, but he doesn’t agree. Andrew wants to push, to  _ make  _ him fall in line like the rest of Andrew’s little family, but Neil is exhausted and hungry and hurting. And Andrew needs rest too. Both of them have been flayed open, leaving every nerve raw and exposed before they were grafted together. It’s uncomfortable and irrevocable and Andrew needs to retreat a bit, to lick his wounds and recover. 

He does not care to parade his new familiar before the nosy foxes and deal with their reactions and invasive questions. If he has to do so now, someone is going to get stabbed. “Come on,” Andrew mutters, turning on his heel and marching back towards the house. He’ll avoid everyone he can and ignore anyone he can't. 

Somehow, the sun still isn’t fully risen and the house is quiet, Wymack still puttering around his office while Abby and Bee have just started breakfast when they walk through the house towards Andrews room. Andrew pauses with his hand on his door knob.  _ He’s about to let someone into his bedroom.  _ He hasn’t even thought about it, and he’s paralyzed. He doesn’t let  _ anyone _ into his space, not Aaron, not Renee, not even Bee. But he can’t stand the thought of letting Neil out of his sightline, especially not when he’s sleeping and vulnerable. Under his armbands, his wrists begin to itch. 

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Neil says, exhaustion sagging every part of him, including his voice. “Or the bathtub.”

Andrew opens his door. Neil eyes him carefully until Andrew rolls his eyes and shoves him foreward with one hand between his shoulderblades. Neil enters the room. Andrew waits for the revulsion and discomfort to hit him, but the space is still as quiet and peaceful with Neil inside. Andrew opens a drawer and pulls out some of his soft clothes and drops them on the floor at Neil’s feet. “I’ll be back with food. Shower’s through there.” he gestures towards the bathroom and steps back towards the door. “It is okay that you are in here, but if you want to sleep somewhere else-”

Neil full body shudders and he licks his lips uncertainly. “I… don’t trust anyone… else.”

Andrew nods sharply and steps back into the hall, leaning against the door for a moment to breathe. He doesn’t know if he can do this. But he doesn’t have a choice. It is done. And Andrew doesn’t believe in regret and besides, he already wants to put his eyes and hands back on his familiar. The connection, as weak and new as it is, is stunningly powerful already. 

Andrew breathes and ruthlessly suppresses that ridiculous instinct as he marches purposely to the kitchen. He ignores the cheerful greetings from the women and helps himself to a heaping pile of the eggs and fresh toast and bacon, stacking them efficiently on one plate and filling a mug with coffee, made to his tastes. Neil can have some when he wakes. Bee raises an eyebrow at the amount of food he’s taking and tilts her head in a silent question. “Tomorrow,” he says, and leaves the room, ignoring Abby calling after him. 

Neil is standing tense and swaying when Andrew slips into the room, glaring at the bed like it’s just insulted him. He is swallowed by Andrew’s sweater, despite being an inch or two taller and Andrew has to take a too-hot gulp of coffee to suppress the satisfied little flame that flickers to life at the sight. “If you collapse, I will leave you where you fall,” Andrew warns. “Get in the bed, eat the food and go to sleep. When I say that no one will touch you, I mean myself as well.”

Neil glances at him doubtfully, but he stiffly climbs into the bed and reaches for the plate, looking at Andrew like he’s waiting for Andrew to fight him for it. Andrew uses his fingers to shove an egg and some bacon between two pieces of toast and takes his sandwich to the chair in the corner by the window. He checks his knives, and picks up the book from the table to pretend to read.

Neil bends over the plate and shoves as much of the food into his mouth as he can with each bite.  _ When was the last time, _ Andrew wonders, _ he was allowed to eat his fill? _ Andrew was like him, once or twice, in foster homes.  _ Never again.  _

Neil looks vaguely sick by the time the food is gone. He sets aside the plate and curls in around himself, hiding beneath the blankets and fixing Andrew with wary eyes. Andrew knows he can’t say anything to make Neil feel safe, so he simply waits, exuding calm and protectiveness. Neil can feel him the same way Andrew can feel Neil. 

Slowly, Neil begins to relax, and by the time Andrew has finished his coffee. The familiar is splayed out in Andrew’s bed, sound asleep as light drifts in through the window and sets turns his hair to fire. 

Andrew doesn’t read his book. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lemme know what you think! next chapter should be sometime next week!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it was suggested that I should add a rape/noncon warning to this fic, likely because of how candidly I speak about the atrocities that familiars, and Jean in particularly, face in this universe. my way of handling this important issue was to use the graphic violence and author chose not to use archive warnings tags as well as mentioned/implied sexual assault, because I do not have any graphic rape scenes. on the other hand, I think it was a very valid concern to raise (and I am very grateful it was raised). The last thing I would want to do is unintentionally trigger someone who avoids rape/noncon content. what do you guys think? should I add the tag even though there aren't graphic scenes? leave it as is but add content warnings before chapters that discuss it?
> 
> regardless, if anyone is concerned and wants more details about what occurs sexual-assault wise in each chapter, feel free to message me on Tumblr and I'll let you know. I really want everyone to be safe and feel supported.

Neil’s eyes snap open and find Andrew’s immediately. The room is dark, sun setting on the other side of the house. Andrew puts down his book and stays still, not wanting to startle his familiar, not after all the nightmares he had. “Neil,” he says cautiously, easing back in his chair. Andrew was no longer at the window, having moved closer to Neil when he started screaming. He hadn’t dared to touch him, but his very presence had seemed to make him shut up, which made Andrew feel better. 

“I thought-” Neil exhales and relaxes back into the pillows. “I dreamed you gave me back.”

“You are unbelievably stupid,” Andrew tells Neil, “don’t look at me like that.” Andrew reaches out slowly and pushes Neil’s face away, because he can’t stand looking at it anymore. 

A heavy fist hits Andrew’s door, making Neil go still and blank as he stares at it. “Minyard!” Wymack bellows, “get your ass out here!”

Andrew sighs, “I think he knows you’re here.” Neil lifts his chin and stares Andrew down with steady eyes. 

“Is he going to make me leave?” he asks, swinging his legs off the side of the bed with a suppressed wince. 

“He won’t even try,” Andrew says, “It wouldn’t matter anyway. You aren’t going anywhere.”

“No,” Neil agrees with a wry smile, “I think we are well and truly stuck together.”

“I can hear you idiots!” Wymack shouts, hitting the door once again. Neil flinches back towards Andrew, who marches over to slap the door back. 

“He won’t touch you,” Andrew tells him, “even if he wanted to.”

Neil just shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Andrew doesn’t know whether he means because trauma isn’t logical or because Andrew would stop anyone who tried, but it’s ultimately the same thing so he opens the door just enough that he can meet Wymack’s eyes. “What,” he says, hiding Neil behind the door. 

“Don’t be an asshole,” Wymack grumbles, “you think I don’t know who’s in my territory?”

“Then why are you bothering me?” Andrew asks dryly, tapping his gloved fingers against the doorframe. 

Wymack sighs and runs his hands through his hair, tribal tattoos dancing on his arms. “You both must be hungry,” he says much quieter, stepping back out of Andrew’s space. “Dinner’s ready.”

Wymack is fiercely protective of his coven, but he doesn’t like to involve himself in their business or often fractious relationships. He has no intentions of coddling Neil or introducing him slowly. No, Wymack intends to abandon him to their curiosity and power jockeying. It’s a blanket acceptance of Neil’s presence, as steadfast and informal as the man himself. 

Andrew glances over his shoulder at Neil. “Are you hungry?” he asks. It’s an unnecessary question, he knows that Neil is, but he’s not going to make Neil leave their room until he’s ready. Andrew needs to check on his family and warn Wymack about the trouble Neil brings with him. 

“Is your coven on the menu?” Neil quips with a savage smile, peering over Andrew’s shoulder at Wymack. 

“ _ You  _ might be,” Andrew informs him, already dreading Nicky’s reaction to Neil’s appearance. 

“Christ, kid,” Wymack already sounds exhausted. “You’re gonna fit right in with these morons.”

Neil blinks, likely used to a far different reaction to his smart mouth. Andrew is abruptly grateful that it wasn’t beaten out of him in the Nest. “Play nice,” Andrew orders, flicking Neil on the forehead to dim his grin. 

It doesn’t work. “Make me,” Neil says, and Andrew exhales deeply, attraction only contained by the knowledge that Neil has no idea that his words are flirtatious. 

“I do not get paid enough for this,” Wymack groans, retreating down the hall, “at least wait until I’m out of earshot.” 

“What?” Neil asks, but he’s already distracted by the smell of hot food drifting from the kitchen. 

Andrew doesn’t bother replying as he brushes his hand along Neil’s back as he passes him. Neil shivers at the contact and doesn’t shy away, following him closely enough that Andrew can feel his warmth. 

Renee is the only one who notices Neil when he and Andrew first walk into the warm kitchen, fragrant with chicken pot pie. Her instant surprise and alertness melts into warm welcome and gentle curiosity, but Neil’s eyes find her immediately and stay cold and cautious.  _ Interesting, _ Andrew thinks, it's rare for someone to see through Renee’s kind exoskeleton to her dangerous core. 

“Andrew,” Kevin snaps, “you were supposed to-” he turns, spots Neil and drops his fork into his water, splashing Aaron. 

“What the fuck!” Aaron yelps and recoils, and everyone stares at Neil, who bares his teeth. Magic collects in the air around him, ricocheting between Andrew and Neil, but easily controlled. Andrew could snuff it out like a candle, or tear it away from Neil with a flick of his fingers. He understands, now, why familiars are kept on such short leashes. The power they provide is intoxicating, flooding Andrew with wellbeing and warmth and control. It's a feeling not unlike being behind the wheel of a sports car, or waking up to discover that he could bend the sun to his will. Andrew glances at Neil, but doesn’t stop him. He is not a pet or a prisoner or a possession, and Andrew will not treat him like one. 

Neil is testing him, pushing to find his limits. It’s infuriating, but will be dealt with later. 

“Ummmmm,” Nicky says, looking at Neil with wide eyes, “Is that-”

“Nathaniel!” Kevin says, “you’re alive.” he sounds like he’s trying to figure out whether he’s relieved or terrified by the prospect. 

“I’ve been told I’m like a cockroach,” Neil says cooly, “I choose to take it as a compliment.”

“Everyone,” Wymack gruffly, “this is Nathaniel-”

“Neil,” Andrew and Neil say at the same time. 

Wymack doesn’t even pause. “-Neil. Neil, welcome to the coven. Does anyone have any questions or concerns before dinner?”

“I have some  _ concerns _ -” Seth starts, pounding his fist on the table as Allison looks at Neil with an opportunistic gleam in her lined eyes.

“No?” Wymack interrupts, “great. I’m starving.” He clears his throat and reaches across the table to spoon chicken pot pie onto his plate. When Neil doesn’t move, Wymack raises his eyebrows and looks pointedly at the empty places waiting for him and Andrew. 

Neil still doesn’t move. He’s gone very still, as if he wants to disappear into the background, but he’s impossible to ignore with all the magic surging around him. Andrew feels Neil fist his hand in the back of Andrew’s shirt and tug just enough to be felt, careful not to let their skin brush. 

Andrew dislodges Neil's hand and sits down, glaring pointedly at Neil until he sits too. The table is uncomfortably silent save the scrape of silverware on porcelain as everyone serves themselves. Dan reaches for the wine and pours a generous glug of it into her glass before it’s snatched from her by Allison. Andrew doesn’t look at Neil as he scoops chicken pot pie into his bowl. “I can serve myself,” Neil mutters under his breath. Andrew wants to hit him. Instead, he glances around at his people. Nicky looks delighted, just barely holding back the exclamations and horrible questions he’s bursting with, by sinking his hand around Erik's forearm. Kevin is pale and keeps shooting glances at Neil like he’s either going to reach for Andrew’s knives or disappear. Andrew’s gaze gets caught on Aaron, who for once isn’t trying to text underneath the table like Andrew is stupid or blind. No, Aaron is glaring at Neil with barely concealed violence. 

Andrew raises an eyebrow. Oh yes, Aaron might make a nuisance of himself. 

“You kids have fun,” Wymack says, “no killing each other at the table.” he takes his full plate and saunters out of the room, leaving them to get acquainted without his interference. 

“This is bullshit!” Seth yells as soon as Wymack steps out of eye-shot, smacking the table with his large fist. A fork commits suicide by jumping off the table. Little fires erupt around the fire mage, blackening Wymack’s hand-carved table. 

“Calm the fuck down, Seth!” Dan snaps, waving her hand. A tiny storm cloud appears, complete with thunder, lightning and enough rain to extinguish the fire. 

“Calm down?” Seth replies, “Are you serious? Isn't it bad enough to adopt one of Riko’s pets without taking his familiar? This is  _ stealing.  _ From the  _ Moriyama’s.  _ Y’all can be suicidal all you want, but it’s bullshit to drag us into it!” 

Seth stands up, breathing heavily. He shoots an aggressive glare at Neil and snaps his fingers, a fireball appearing in his hands. 

Andrew, very casually, pulls off his gloves one finger at a time. 

Seth snorts impressively and chucks the fireball at Neil. Neil doesn’t even flinch as the fireball is absorbed by one of the wards Andrew wrapped around him while he slept. The energy should dissipate, each attack strengthening Neil’s defenses. But instead it gives, bending back like a rubber sheet before catapulting the flaming projectile back through the air at Seth. 

It hits the fire mage squarely in the chest, sending him sagging backwards as his shirt burns away. Seth swears viciously and turns on the table. “I vote  _ no _ !” he roars, before storming out. Andrew glances at Neil, who stares back as if reweaving one of Andrew’s wards without him so much as noticing is nothing. 

“So, umm, Neil’s a familiar,” Nicky pipes up excitedly into the ensuing silence. “Isn’t that, like, sex magic?”

“Nicky,” Andrew’s voice is a threat, low and soft but unmistakable. Beside him, Neil has gone tense. 

Nicky, the fool, waves off his warning. “Neil, are you looking for a witch to partner with because Erik and I are open to a third and-” Andrew’s knife sinks an inch deep into the table close enough to Nicky’s hand to make him bleed. His words are cut off with a yelp as he recoils into Erik’s side. Erik wraps his arm around Nicky, glares balefully at Andrew, and teleports them away from the table. 

It’s for the best. Andrew wasn’t done throwing knives at his cousin yet. “I am not, “ Neil says, voice low and dangerous, “a toy or a commodity. If you touch me, I’ll take your hand, do you understand me?” He looks around the table and meets the eyes of each member of the coven. He does not look at Andrew, but their fingers brush as he picks up his fork and Andrew can feel the buzz of gratitude and comfort Neil sends him. 

“Does that include Andrew?” Allison asks shrewdly, looking pointedly at where their hands meet. “Because it seems to me that the role of Neil’s handler has been taken.”

Kevin looks aghast, “You didn’t!” he says. “Do you have any idea what Riko will do to you when he finds out?”

“Do you?” Neil shoots back, “because I remember you fleeing so you didn’t have to watch all the nasty things he likes to do when he’s angry.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Neither was being under his thumb, Kevin.”

“Bullshit!” Aaron snaps, “It doesn’t matter because Andrew won't let him stay.”

“Care to put some money on it?” Allison asks, tilting her head to the side. 

“Shut up!” Dan snaps, “all of you!” she turns to Neil, gentling her voice. “Are you okay? You are welcome here. No one,” she glares pointedly at Andrew, “is going to hurt you.”

Neil looks at her funny. “I’m fine, thanks,” he says. 

“I spend most nights with Dan,” Matt offers, leaning towards Neil with earnest eyes. “After dinner I’ll get my room set up so you can stay there.” 

Neil glances sideways at Andrew, who stiffens slightly. He hadn’t even thought of Matt’s room, but the idea of Neil being more than an arm's length away from him makes his stomach lurch. He opens his mouth to say no, then clamps it shut forcefully. He has no right to tell Neil where he can and cannot sleep.  _ He will not be like them.  _

“Thank you,” Neil says sincerely, looking surprised and delighted. “I’ll keep that in mind, but…” he trails off and looks at Andrew searchingly. “I’d rather stay where I am, if that’s okay?”

“Yes,” Andrew says immediately, and Neil’s tentative smile grows. 

“What. the. Fuck.” Aaron’s voice is incredulous and disgusted and Andrew wants to punch him. 

“Shut up, Aaron,” Dan says, turning back to look at Neil. “Are you sure, Neil? Andrew is dangerous.”

“Dan,” Renee cuts in gently, laying a hand on her arm. “Neil is an adult and he certainly doesn’t look like Andrew’s hostage, we don’t want to be rude, do we?”

Dan mutters, but subsides. “Let us know if you need  _ anything _ ,” she tells Neil, unable to quell her glare at Andrew. 

“Hello, Neil. I’m Renee,” Renee says warmly. 

Neil looks at her coldly, face cut off and polite. “Hello,” he says neutrally. Andrew looks at him, most people like Renee instantly, immediately falling for her kind and gentle facade. But not Neil. No, somehow he recognizes her terrifying power and knows enough to fear it. It’s a misguided fear, Andrew would trust Renee with Neil’s life if it came down to it, but he doesn’t trust her yet.  _ Interesting.  _ He is so very interesting. Neil must feel Andrew’s stare, because he turns his head and their eyes meet. Neil’s eyes are so, so blue. 

“Still think you’re gonna win that bet, Aaron?” Allison says nastily, casting a triumphant look at Andrew’s seething twin. 

“Careful, Reynolds,” Andrew warns her. He promised Aaron to protect him, and Aaron has proved rather helpless against useless blondes. Allison is also incredibly dangerous, especially to straight men, who are rather vulnerable to her particular brand of mind control. 

“Relax, Monster,” Allison sighs. “I don’t bite.”

“But I do.” Andrew looks at Neil to make sure he’s finished eating and notices that he’s squirrelled away a few rolls into the deep pockets of Andrew’s sweats. Neil’s plate is clean, so Andrew stands abruptly and walks towards the door, Neil a silent shadow on his heels. 

\--

“Play nice,” Andrew warns Neil again as he knocks on Kevin’s door. 

“I’m always nice,” Neil lies, voice and face solemn. “Can I?” he asks, hesitantly, reaching one palm towards Andrew’s face. 

Andrew nods, and leans in to Neil’s touch, bringing his own hand to rest on the back of Neil’s neck to pull them closer together. The power buzzes through them, amplifying off of each other. Andrew feels tension he wasn’t even aware he was holding melt away. 

The door opens, and Andrew pushes Neil away. He goes easily, turning to stare Kevin down. Andrew is far from ashamed of his relationship with Neil, but it’s still between them, not for anyone else’s eyes. “What?” Kevin asks warily, eyeing the two of them.

“Thought I’d give you your powers back,” Neil says nonchalantly, “but if you’re not interested..”

Andrew stifles his snort as Kevin’s startled exclamation echoes around the hallway. He’s not sure restoring what Riko blocked will be as easy as Neil intimates, but if anyone can do it… he salutes Neil, who smirks back at him. Andrew leaves them in each other's dubious care and turns a corner. He has another problem to take care of. 

He finds Aaron in the office-sized room Wymack generously calls the library. Aaron has several books piled around him, all on anatomy and healing magic. Like Andrew, Aaron had inherited his magic from their father, and it had been stifled by Tilda’s drugs until Andrew had killed her and forced him to detox. It was Aaron’s resulting inferiority complex that drove him to study his magic constantly, as if he had to make up for lost time. 

It was a useless pastime for a mostly useless man. 

Aaron looks up with a glare at Andrew’s approach. Andrew leans against a bookshelf and blinks back at him. “What do you want?” Aaron finally snaps. He’s never been all that patient. 

Andrew quirks an eyebrow. “I’m not the one with something to say. You have two seconds to spit it out now, or I never want to hear about it again. Up to you.”

“Are they right?” Aaron demands, muscle ticking in his jaw. “Are you fucking Riko’s familiar?”

“Why would I fuck Riko’s familiar when I have one of my own?” Andrew  _ know’s  _ he shouldn’t goad Aaron, but he can’t bring himself to do anything else when Aaron is  _ lying _ to him and breaking his promise. Why does it always have to be Andrew who bends and gives and compromises? No. He has done enough of that in his lifetime, and it still got him nothing. He will never do it again, not for anyone. Even Aaron.

Predictively, Aaron’s face crumples and twists in hatred. “So, what, you’re a fag now? All that bullshit about us sticking together and scaring off any girl I talked to, but you can just steal Riko’s sex toy and bring down his rage on us all? So much for your promise to protect me!”

Rage reaches out a burning hand and grips him by the throat. “Get the fuck out of my sight,” he hisses, utterly sickened by the hypocrisy and lies and self-righteousness that exudes from his twins every pore. 

Aaron must see that it’s the only warning he’ll get, because he hoists the book into his arm and turns to the door. “Fucking psychopath,” he mutters as he passes and only Andrew’s promise keeps him from reaching out and strangling his brother. 

As soon as Aaron disappears, no doubt to go call his dirty little secret, _fucking hypocrite._ _D_ _oes he think Andrew doesn’t know that she’s a raven?_ Andrew turns and punches the wall until his bones grind and the plaster turns from dust to red paste. 

“Andrew,” someone murmurs, and Andrew turns with his fist raised. Neil looks at him steadily with warm eyes, body relaxed like he knows the punch will never land. “You’re hurt.” he doesn’t look at Andrew’s hand. 

Andrew can’t say anything, but his fist sags to his side, dripping blood onto the hardwood. “Will you let me help?” Neil asks, holding up his empty hands. 

He waits patiently for a long time, until Andrew slowly raises his bloody and broken hands and places them gingerly on top of Neil’s. Neil looks at Andrew for a second before he slowly lowers his head, brushing his lips across Andrew’s torn skin. The touch is feather light, but it penetrates skin and bone and and rage and spreads warm light to all the darkest corners of Andrew’s mind. 

Andrew can feel Neil’s tentative trust, knows how vulnerable he feels to give this kind of kiss, the nagging terror that Andrew will clench his newly healed fingers into Neil’s hair and force him to his knees, take more than Neil is ready to give. 

Andrew stays very still until Neil raises his head. Carefully, Andrew brings his thumb to Neil’s face, and wipes his blood from Neil’s mouth. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!!!
> 
> I post a weekly update schedule on my Tumblr @ elesary


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